


that’s the way it goes, it’ll all work out

by starquills



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint Barton Feels, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25145602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starquills/pseuds/starquills
Summary: “I don’t want to go to bed angry,” Clint says finally, seemingly having had enough of standing quietly, fingers fumbling over one another as he stands just far enough away that Bucky can’t reach for him. His cheeks are tinged red, maybe from crying, maybe from the bite of the wind that’s whipping up here — Bucky will do him the favour of not asking.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	that’s the way it goes, it’ll all work out

They fought. They yelled, and Clint cried — and _okay, yeah,_ maybe Bucky cried a little, afterwards too. All red eyes, and skin tight from dried tears.

And it was _awful_.

Truly awful, in a way that Bucky thought would never be them; foolishly clinging onto the hope that somehow — _somehow_ — he and Clint were going to avoid the inevitable first fight that all couples have. The one that _hurts_ , for sure, but makes you realise that fighting isn’t so bad after all; it means you have something worth fighting for in the first place. (And god is Clint worth it.)

So this brings them to now; Bucky sitting on the roof of the building — Clint’s building, practically _their_ building now — and Clint, stood behind him. Consciously making sound in the way that is very obviously meant to alert Bucky to his presence. It’s the sort of thing that proves that even after they fought, that he’s always thinking about what’s best for Bucky, always has his back; wanting him to continue to feel safe in one of the few places where he’s settled.

Somewhere he can finally think of as home.

So despite their fight, despite the things that Bucky wishes he wouldn’t have said, but can’t take back, and the way that he _swears_ he felt his heart break when Clint’s voice did the same, he turns himself around.

And sure, the smile he offers up is kinda sad, and kinda tired, but it’s still there, you know? And that’s what matters.

“I don’t want to go to bed angry,” Clint says finally, seemingly having had enough of standing quietly, fingers fumbling over one another as he stands just far enough away that Bucky can’t reach for him. His cheeks are tinged red, maybe from crying, maybe from the bite of the wind that’s whipping up here — Bucky will do him the favour of not asking.

And Bucky fights the urge to snort at the wording, to let out an incredulous noise, because he _knows_ angry. Intimately, as though it’s an old friend. For years, angry was all he knew; flooding through his veins, all-encompassing, deep in a way that made him ache all the way down to his bones until they froze over.

Because while Bucky knows that, he also knows that angry is something Clint grew up with, for _years_. The kind of angry that still to this day keeps him from sleeping sometimes, that has him fighting to stay awake so that he doesn’t have to live through any of it again.

So he doesn’t snort — doesn’t comment at all, or respond in any ways that would be any kind of unthinking initial reaction. Because this is fragile; he needs to tread carefully. He needs to think.

“I’m not angry,” he tries.

(It doesn’t feel like enough.)

“Yeah,” Clint shakes his head, messy blond hair catching in the breeze, and moves himself forward. Sits himself down, too, a carefully calculated distance from Bucky’s side, but close enough to keep him in his line of sight. “I don’t think I am either.”

He lets out this little breathy laugh, kind of self-deprecating in sound.

”I’m not sure I know what to call this.”

Clint agrees once more. They sit in a silence that’s neither comfortable, nor awkward, but sits nicely between the two.

Bucky stretches out a hand — metal, not that he pays much attention anymore; not that Clint minds — breaches the careful distance between them. Just — just seeing what will happen.

And Clint — because Clint needs that offer, needs Bucky to reach out first, to make sure that it’s okay for him to take hold — responds slowly, but surely. Fits their fingers together and clings on tightly.

“Will you come to bed. Please?” The archer asks, voice quiet, but carrying just enough.

Bucky squeezes his hand in response at first. “I will,” He agrees just as softly, but ensuring that he pitches his voice in a way that means Clint will be able to hear him properly, out here with so many sounds to contend with, “I need a little more time out here, I think. But I’ll come to bed tonight, I promise.”

And then he thinks — really thinks — and realises that maybe Clint means more than simply that. That he’s posing a question he’s too scared to ask.

“I’m not leaving, okay?” He reassures, gentle enough to be carried away by the wind if a gust came along at the right moment. “Just give me a little time.”

So Clint nods, squeezes back, and sits there a minute more, lingering to take a little more comfort; he knows Bucky isn’t leaving, but perhaps just needs a moment longer to let himself _feel_ it. And that’s okay; Bucky’ll let him have it.

**Author's Note:**

> it’s been a while, but i missed these boys & want to get back to writing them! if you have any prompts you want me to fulfil, pls leave them in a comment!! i’m hoping to start writing some longer pieces, too, though these little drabbles are too fun to stop at 
> 
> let me know what you thought!


End file.
